The Methuselan Circuit

by Anderson, Christopher L.

  “It’s called inflection,” Lt. Mortimer hissed. “He does it to keep everyone’s attention!”

  “He’s got mine,” Treya said. “He sounds as if he’s going to be ill.”

  “Maybe he is,” Lisa whispered. “He keeps looking from side to side as if there’s someone there—doesn’t he know we’re right here where the camera is—maybe he’s drunk?”

  “On power,” Treya said flatly.

  “Cadets be silent!” Mortimer insisted.

  They grimaced and listened on.

  “As reluctant as I am to take them, positive and historic steps are required to quell our current crisis. As your Overlord, I must answer to the necessity of action. Yet these times require a boldness heretofore never seen on the political stage. Never before have we used such revolutionary means for the cause of hope and change, a fundamental change in society, a change that will bring equality and social justice to the masses who before could only look and ask, ‘Why are we not Citizens as well?’ Today, indeed this very hour we bring this hope to reality. We take the downtrodden and pull them up to the level of Citizen and we take the pampered few and tell them—you have a responsibility to the masses!” He paused for his words to sink in, shaking his head and saying, “There are those who would say they have borne the burden of Unioneers for years, and that Unioneers have no wants, no needs, no responsibility other than the eight hours of labor five days a week that the contract demands of them—yet what of dignity? What of respectability? What of the right of self determination? Unioneers deserve that right; they’ve worked for it—they demand it, and I demand it for them!”

  The ship rang with a metallic sound, and it lurched enough so that the President had to grab the podium to keep from falling. Stunned, the President simply stood there as if the stream of words he meant to communicate simply disappeared. He stood silently, eyes wide with surprise, until an aide entered the picture. The President’s dusky features turned ashen and the hologram went out.

  #

  “Cadet Wolfe step away from the weapons board!” Centurion Fjallheim ordered. His blaster was in his hand and it pointed at Alexander. “It’s set on stun Alexander, but I don’t want to shoot you. Believe me, though, if you make a move to fire that gun again I will shoot.”

  Alexander stepped away, saying, “It takes time to charge anyway; it won’t be ready to fire for several minutes.”

  Fjallheim went to the board. He was extremely agitated. “What were you doing; why throw away your career like that—for what?” He powered down the gun, and then Alexander saw him bring up the targeting display. “What in the world were you aiming at,” he muttered, looking at the two meter hole Alexander blasted in the hull. “Really, what in the world were you trying to do?”

  “You know what I was trying to do,” Alexander told him defiantly. “I was trying to destroy the Methuselan Circuit!”

  The centurion froze at the mention of the Circuit. “There’s no way to destroy the—” he stopped himself, shifting the camera quickly to the ring antennae. To Alexander’s relief it no longer emitted the blue beam. Terra was free. Fjallheim turned to him, gun raised, demanding, “What do you know about the Methuselan Circuit Cadet; tell me everything you know!”

  “I know the President was using it to control the minds of Terrans in order to implement his Gaian policies,” he said, and then he took a deep breath. “I also know he promised you the Commandant’s position!”

  “That’s what they told you is it!” Fjallheim’s finger quivered on the trigger and his face contorted into a grotesque mask. With his other hand he twisted the blaster ring, changing the setting. Alexander swallowed hard. “Your career is over, Alexander Wolfe. After today you will no longer be a cadet in the Academy!”

  “That’s not your call to make centurion!” said a voice thick with menace.

  Fjallheim’s face contorted, running through anger, surprise, confusion and every other wild emotion Alexander could think of in that split second. Alexander followed his eyes, looking back at the breech in the bridge bulkhead. An inky black figure floated in the hole. The figure stepped through the energy screen and Alexander caught sight of a dim radiance in the shape of a man with what looked to be gossamer thin wings sprouting from his shoulders. He stepped to the deck and the wings retracted into what looked to be a form-fitting suit of armor. The armor appeared to take the hue of whatever was around it, but it shifted constantly so it was very hard to focus on.

  “You’ve done your duty Centurion Fjallheim,” said the figure evenly. “You discovered the malfunction in the Iowa’s weapons board caused by an interaction between the Methuselan Psionic Wave and the ship’s weapon systems. You got here in time to turn off the gun before it fired again—saving the Academy and all on board.”

  Fjallheim stared at the man in disbelief, and then he looked down at the weapons board. After shifting through several different files, he shook his head in astonishment. “You’ve already altered the computer’s memory files!” Shocked, he dropped his blaster to the deck.

  “Yes, you’re a hero Centurion Fjallheim.” He held out his hand and the Centurion’s blaster flew into it. Fjallheim grimaced. “Be careful what you say in your report, centurion, because according to the surveillance files of the Iowa neither Cadet Wolfe was here, nor was I.”

  The figure plucked Alexander off the floor and leapt back through the hole into space. Alexander felt his sustaining field come back on, but he didn’t need it for long. The figure flew to an airlock at one of the docking stations and opened the door. He set Alexander down inside the hatch, but he didn’t follow him in. The figure glanced at the blaster. Alexander’s eyes followed his; the blaster was set to maximum.

  “He was going to kill me!”

  The figure shook his head, and told him, “Fjallheim was going to kill himself. Why kill you? You’re career was over, but so was his. Fjallheim’s a good soldier deep down; he couldn’t live with that. Now you have his secret. Be careful with it. We need him.”

  “Yes sir,” Alexander answered, and he stared hard at the dark figure in the dark suit. “Who are you sir?”

  Alexander couldn’t be sure, but he got the distinct impression that one of the two eye-like lenses on the figure’s helmet winked at him before the door closed.

  CHAPTER 27: Christmas Leave

  The events of the past hours rushed through Alexander’s head as he walked down the docking bridge to the terminal. It felt like he was leaving the theater after watching a movie, except here he was at the Academy with Terra rotating slowly beneath him. There was no blue beam assaulting the planet. That didn’t make things right, but it was a step in the right direction; the question was, what next?

  As he mulled that over, wondering whether he’d actually be taking finals in a few weeks or whether he’d be unceremoniously returned to Terra, the tramping of many feet caught his attention. He looked up, and there was no mistaking the Presidential entourage flanked on either side by the Praetorian Guard. Alexander snapped to attention and plastered himself against the nearest bulkhead, trying to shrink to as small a size as possible. It was no use, the President saw him and though he said nothing and did not stop, he glared at Alexander with an expression of mixed curiosity and venom. Did he know?

  After the President passed, Alexander hustled to the dormitory where Lt. Mortimer was waiting for him. He came to attention when she asked him where he’d been and answered truthfully, “I was on the Terminal deck Ma’am. There’s a great view of the Iowa. I go there when I need to think.”

  “How did you get out of the dormitory the doors were locked?”

  “They opened for me when I went out,” he answered with a straight face, again truthfully.

  “Did anything unusual happen while you were on the Terminal deck?”

  Alexander nodded, and once again told the truth, “I should say so, Ma’am. The Iowa’s main gun went off, but I didn’t see where or what it hit. Oh, and I saw the President walk by. He didn’t see
m too happy.”

  Lt. Mortimer scowled at him, which was still a beautiful look for her, so it was hard for Alexander to be too concerned. However, with deep gravity, she asked one more question. “Where you involved in the trouble with the other flights?”

  “No Ma’am, I was not.”

  She bit her lip and shook her head. “Consider yourself on report Cadet Wolfe.” Then she left.

  Alexander got orders to report to the Commandant the very next day.

  He left class as soon as the orders were presented to him. Everyone watched him go. Nervously, he went to Augesburcke’s office and waited, wondering whether he would be escorted to a ship in a few moments. He tried to take in all his experiences, and he had to admit, it really was an amazing four months. Then the loudspeaker announced, “Cadet Wolfe report into my office at once!”

  Alexander straightened his uniform and took a deep breath. He was as calm as he could be considering the circumstances. He stepped to the door and it slid open. Commandant Augesburcke was sitting behind his desk. He looked up and pulled at his mustache, but he said, “Come in Alexander, and be at ease. If you’re thinking that I’m about to put you off the station—think again! You’ve caused far too much trouble for me to let you go just yet!”

  He stepped in and the door closed behind. He was relieved, but still somewhat confused. “I’m not in trouble then sir?”

  Augesburcke stood up and laughed, “Oh you’re in a great deal of trouble! I’ve just been writing a very unique report, telling the President of Pan America and the Pro Consul of the Legions why I can’t expel you—or rather why I won’t expel you.” He waved aside Alexander’s surprised expression and patted him on the shoulder. “How could I? You had nothing to do with the malfunction of the Iowa. Centurion Fjallheim’s report, corroborated by the surveillance cameras and data files, is very clear that you had nothing to do with the disappearance of the Methuselan Circuit.”

  “The disappearance,” Alexander asked. “You mean it wasn’t destroyed?”

  “No, but the structure aligning it was destroyed,” Augesburcke replied. “I conjecture that it spun into space, we’re looking for it now. Perhaps it will fall into the sun. Who knows—maybe a ghost took it!” He laughed quite loudly and sincerely, and Alexander was quite certain that he knew everything that had happened. “As it is, all you are guilty of is being out of quarters. I can’t expel you without expelling a few hundred other cadets. Therefore the case is closed. I can’t punish any of you without endangering your finals, and there will be quite enough of a challenge for all of you considering two of your professors will be absent.”

  “Absent sir?”

  Augesburcke pulled at his mustache again, “Yes, it appears that all Hell is breaking lose in the Pan American Congress. They feel as if they’ve been brainwashed and manipulated; which they were of course. There will be serious repercussions for those involved—it’s nothing short of treason.”

  “Only two Professors,” Alexander asked carefully.

  Augesburcke glanced at Alexander as if gauging what he might suspect or know. “Yes, Professor Strauss and Professor Nussbaum. Of course, they both have very violent histories back in the day,” he chuckled. “Strangely enough, both were appointees of then Senator Cass Bar-Judas. He’ll have a hard time surviving this, especially with that extra baggage, but survive it he will. Some politicians are survivors and this man is a jackal—he’ll eat his own.” Augesburcke paced the room, chewing on his mustache. “Unfortunately, the Academy will take its shots. Two of our professors are traitors, and another, Professor Mortimer was unconsciously duped into helping them. She simply couldn’t help solving the ‘hypothetical’ socio-algorithms they provided her. It’s her hobby, you might say, and they knew how to take advantage of her.” He turned to Alexander again and smiled. “Thanks to your ingenuity and bravery, and that of your friends and Centurion Fjallheim we’ve weathered the first ionic squall. Let’s hope we do as well next time.” He sighed and sat back down.

  “Sir, one more question—who killed the Ambassador and the two Terrans?”

  “Strauss,” he said gruffly. “He caught on to their true motivations and took off after them—pretty ballsy for him, but he was desperate. He ambushed them on Luna. Unfortunately our agents didn’t consider him a threat—who would—but even a fat wolf has a nasty bite when cornered!”

  “Sir with all due respect, I can’t believe Strauss would be able to take out all three with a blaster.”

  “Good for you; you’d be right under normal circumstances too,” the Commandant nodded grimly. He dug something out of his desk drawer. It was a silver ball about the size of a lacrosse ball. He tossed it to Alexander. “Don’t worry, I deactivated it.”

  He caught it. The ball was heavy and smooth except for the dozen small red projections evenly distributed around the sphere. “Terrorist toys,” the Commandant growled. “That’s a blaster ball, invented by Strauss himself. He used it more than once back in the day. You toss it at a group of targets and it shoots randomly, three shots per bulb. It’s as deadly as it is cowardly, but then terrorists are both.” He took the blaster ball back and put it away. “Let that be a lesson to you! I got a full confession; I threatened him with Pantrixnia if he didn’t tell the truth. You can tell your friend Cadet Jameson he doesn’t have to take any more pot shots at Centurion Fjallheim!”

  “Is Centurion Fjallheim the one who put the glede in the Lugby ball?”

  Augesburcke looked at him with a twinkle in his eye. “Perceptive, Alexander, that’s very perceptive of you, but nothing so sinister. Gledes are standard issue. It’s not unusual for a centurion to put one in a Lugby ball in fractional g for the very reason you saw. After a predetermined time without handling the glede assumes it’s been lost and heads back to the nearest Federation beacon. In this case, that was Ms. Jameson; her beacon survived the attack and was in standby mode. The glede unwittingly led you right to her. ”

  “Is Centurion Fjallheim on our side?”

  Augesburcke shrugged his shoulders, and said, “Alexander to be honest with you there are no absolutes in this business. For now, yes Centurion Fjallheim has proven his worth.”

  “What is going to happen to Professor Nussbaum and Strauss?”

  The Commandant laughed, “I’m sure you’ll hear about it! That’ll be all Cadet Wolfe. There’ll be a commendation in your file, and another one in your ‘classified’ file—a bigger one. Sorry you won’t be able to brag about that, but it’s best if it’s not common knowledge. Your father will explain it to you.”

  Alexander took a deep breath and asked the question he most wanted the answer to, “Sir, who was my father?”

  Augesburcke laughed, and said, “He is who he always was. Give him my regards when you go on leave, and tell him it was nice to see him out and about again. He always did look silly on that damn tractor of his! Good luck on your finals, dismissed!”

  Alexander saluted and left; he had a lot to think about. There was literally nothing of his adventures that he could talk about with anyone except their little group. The reasoning didn’t take his father to explain—the President was a dangerous enemy. So they all concentrated on finals, and all of them—even James—did well.

  It was hard parting after such a momentous semester—God, it was only a semester! Still, Alexander was happy to get home. Katrina was there to greet them all with the good news that she’d already been accepted early for the following semester. She’d tested out—a highly unusual, in fact a unique accomplishment—and she’d be joining his flight and Academy class. Things settled into a routine after that, as Alexander still lived on a farm. The chores didn’t seem quite so onerous though, not after the life and death struggles in the Academy.

  One evening his dad called him into his study. Alexander thought that perhaps he might learn more about the events that evening he destroyed the Methuselan Circuit. His dad only smiled and said, “Let’s watch some Holo-V, there’s a special on tonight with some
people you know. Are you up to it?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be,” Alexander asked, glad to sit down after a long day on the farm.

  Dad clicked on the Holo-V and Alexander saw the vast vistas of a great tropical world with sweeping plains and dense jungles. A floating metallic ball entered the picture. It was Bob, the very announcer that presided over the Pantrixnian adventures of Alexander Galaxus. Bob hovered over the jungle and announced, “Welcome to Circus Pantrixnia where tonight we will watch the battle of two Terrans against the beasts of Pantrixnia! Now don’t get your hopes up.” Bob kind of wobbled as if shaking his head, which of course he didn’t have. “These traitorous Terrans are not warriors but academic ideologues who conspired to bring down the Terran government. They meet their fate tonight on the vaunted stage their legendary leader Alexander Galaxus once distinguished himself on!”